Lips, Tempting Tongues
Saturday, December 11, 2004
© 2004 by George Jackson
Nathaniel Hawthorne's short story, "Rappaccini's Daughter",
has been made into a movement play that is both beautiful and a bit befuddling.
The choreographic dramatization is by Laura Schandelmeier in collaboration
with Stephen Clapp, and these two are also the principal motion actors.
Ms. Schandelmeier plays the title role's dual aspects convincingly. As
innocent victim she is all pastel delicacy, as deadly temptress she shows
demonic strength and it is not merely a matter of alternating two characters
like Jekyll and Hyde. They must be blended in different proportions for
this woman learns that to kiss a man is to kill him, yet she desperately
wants that kiss. Mr. Clapp, a lithe mover with an exotically etched silhouette
and long black warrior hair, plays two roles, I think. He seems to alternate
as Rappaccini, the Dr. Frankenstein of this tale who has turned his own
daughter into the monstrous temptress, and as the young hero who, in trying
to lift the evil doctor's spell, becomes obsessed with the daughter. A
third cast member is an articulated mannequin who also represents the
hero or, perhaps, his alter ego.
That much seemed fairly clear. There were murky passages, but I'll get
to those later. Body action, reaction, urges, conflicting drives, facial
expression and even choreography for the characters' tongues conveyed
the story. This movement was highly functional as a vehicle for broad
narrative and, atop this efficiency, it had sensual luster, dynamic variety
and at times a dancey lilt. The staging was handsome (lighting by Catherine
Eliot, mannequin and costuming by Eleanor Rufty, sets by Tim DeVoe and
Christopher Reed, and smoke by anonymous). Moreover, the ambience was
in keeping with the suggestive and realistic conventions of the work's
19th Century Gothic source. As musical environment, the churchly chanting
and ghostly wailing of Toby Twining's "Chrysalid Requiem" sounded
tailor made. There were, too, dramatic instances of silence punctuated
by performer generated sound.
Admirably, narrative was kept primary and meanings were hinted at lightly.
The thoughts that crossed ones mind were theological (Rappaccini as God,
the ultimate evil) and arts historical (Rappaccini reminds one of Rothbart,
Klingsor, Dracula, also Coppelius et al. and his daughter of their instrumental
victims). At least two implied topics are current (AIDS, gender politics).
These ideas shifted as easily as cloud pictures and yet gave the story's
inherent sensuality, sexuality and suspense an added charge.
Unclear were passages of detailed action in which the specifics were puzzling,
unless perchance one remembered ones Hawthorne. I'd read the story long
ago yet seeing this staging didn't bring back sufficient memories to decipher
all the doings. These scenes became tedious and made the hour seem a long
one. Information that was part of the press kit but not the printed program
mentions that the story is told from the viewpoint of the daughter, Beatrice.
That everything is seen from this character's perspective didn't come
across at all. Nor—given so many particular pourings of liquids,
strewings of petals, fondlings of dolls—did the concept that this
was supposed to be an "abstract" narrative. The scene in which
Giovanni, the hero in the flesh, encounters his mannequin self and stands
stock still is quite poignant for an instant, but then one wants to know
not everything but more. Achieving the perfect balance between depiction
and suggestion in motion narrative is difficult but not impossible. Not
long ago, Paata and Irina Tsikurishvili did it with their "The Silent
Hamlet". Laura Schandelmeier and Stephen Clapp have made a start.
2, No. 47
December 13, 2004
©2004 by George Jackson
Sali Ann Kriegsman
Alexandra Tomalonis (Editor)
Kathrine Sorley Walker
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